


Keep on Living

by Otava



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Gap Filler, Introspection, Missing Scene, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otava/pseuds/Otava
Summary: A collection of short fics under 1k from S1-5 of Ripper Street that I've writen.Each fic covers a specific episode which is noted in the individual chapter summary.





	1. The Kiss of Judas (S1E5)

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to contribute a bit more to the fandom now that it's over and I need to grieve. I have a BUNCH of unpublished/unfinished fanfic that I wrote in notebooks during school. Most are quite short, so I finally decided that I'm just going to post them here. Also if y'all have any requests/ suggestions feel free to drop a comment and i'll get to it asap.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S1E5: _The Weight of One Man's heart_ , a personal favorite of mine. Just some sappy Drake introspection

As the two birds flew.

He left, a man anew.

She had denied him with a kiss then hurried out of the room to attend to her customers, leaving Drake to walk out of the room in a daze. The distraught and emotionally-muddled man nearly missed Jackson in the hallway as they passed each other. Drake just wanted to leave the place as fast as he could. Jackson eyes met his, and immediately the American knew what had transpired. “I promise you, no man’s heart aches forever,” he said. Drake froze, the pang in his heart said otherwise. With every step he took, the words echoed in his chest.

It hurt. He had been rejected. Rejected by _Rose_ , somebody had come to love so much. Somebody he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, as her husband. He had never wanted that before, to be somebody's husband; to have a wife. Drake never even thought he'd fall in love like this, especially so late in life, but it happened and he fell hard. 

It happened so suddenly, without warning or pretense. He remembered when he first realized that he was in love with Rose. He saw her standing there, she looked so beautiful that he wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to make her life better

Then there was the incident where she almost died. 

When he saw her outside, being strangled to death he had to jump in and kill the man. She didn’t deserve to die. Carrying her away to safety in his arms made him feel like he was being useful to her. His whole being wanted to protect and cherish her.

At first, Drake believed what he felt for Rose to be a simple infatuation. But after some time and more interaction with her, he had come to the conclusion that his feelings ran deeper than just curiosity and desire. He wanted Rose in more than one way; body, soul, entire being. He wanted her to be safe, happy and well cared for; he wanted her to save her from prostituting herself. She deserved so much better than that. _She was better than that_. She knew it, and Drake knew it; he just wanted to give her the opportunity to show others.

Then the so-called courting started. Drake wanted to give her what she deserved, a proper courting. Even with her profession as it was, she's just still deserved to be treated like any other woman in the world. Drake wanted to show her a normal life. How life with him would be. He would treat her well and with respect. Support her endeavors. Get to know her better, and such.

That was the plan, at least. But she had rejected him.

Drake walked out of Tenter Street to the adjoining path, wading through the crowds that payed him no attention. He sat down and let his mind continue to race.

He had been almost positive that Rose would accept his proposal. He thought that he could make her happy and give her what she needed. He hadn't expected her to say no. He was prepared to do anything for her, he bought her the birds that she had her eye on, asked for a raise. Now he was going to have to do something for her that hadn’t crossed his mind: Leave her alone.

Drake was left with a pair of birds in his hands. Birds that he didn't want and that caused him so much anguish. They reminded him of Rose, represented _their_ love. No, they represented love in general. Not just his and Rose’s love.

Love should be mutual, shared; and as as much as he loved Rose, she did not love him back. They were not like the pair of lovebirds. She didn't need him, even if it felt as if he would die without her. Rose deserved to be happy. He was willing to suffer for her sake and let her live and be free how she wanted, to find her own happiness on her own. 

She would not be happy as his wife.

Perhaps no one ever would. And that would be okay, as long as they were happy.

Drake was not a match for her. He had to set her free from his love and let her go. He hoped that she would find her matching lovebird, or at least be happy if she were to be alone. She could spread her wings and be free.

Drake took the birds from the cages and one after another. When they were both collected in his hands, he released them into the air and they flew away.

He released any hope of Rose ever loving him as well.


	2. The Fall of Matthew Judge (S2E0)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pre S2 spoilers**  
>  Jackson is down on his luck after Susan kicks him out. Aka: How Jackson moves in with Reid

After a long day at work, Reid arrived home. As usual, he stuck his key in his front door’s lock, twisted, then attempted to push the door open. It only moved about an inch forward then ceased in its perpetual action. 

He had expected it to open up normally as it always did and was quite in shock when the door didn’t budge further as he gave it another light push. ‘Curious,’ he thought. Must be stuck; he then shoved harder this time and heard a loud-ish _thump_ from the other side of the door. “What on earth-?” he questioned out loud. Perhaps something had fallen against the door when he left to work that morning. Again, he tried to open it, pushing even harder than ever this time.

A familiar groan came out from a person's mouth from inside. “Jackson?” Reid questioned. Finally, he had managed to get one foot inside the door and then wedged the rest if his body inside. Homer Jackson was lying on the floor, looking absolutely terrible. His face was pale and his mustache had traces of vomit on it.

“Jackson! Oh nicolas cage, Jackson!?” Reid shouted, pulling at the man by his shirt collar, trying to get him up from his dangerous position. He was just simply dead weight lying there in the foyer, unconscious to Reid’s presence. “Dammit, Jackson! Get up!” 

Reid had no idea what to do, so he tried shaking him some more and then felt for his pulse; it was slow but present. Reid eventually propped his friend’s body flat up against the wall and ran to get a bucket of cold water to try and rouse him. When he came back, Jackson’s body was slumped over again. Hurriedly, Reid dunked Jackson's face in the water. “Jackson!” Reid shouted once again.

“What d’ you want Reid? Stop trying to wake me,” Jackson spoke in a slurred, low voice. His eyes were still mostly closed.

“What in Nicolas Cage’s name are you doing here, man!” Reid shouted.

“Whatddya mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You bloody well know what I mean! Why are you passed out, covered in your own filth in _my_ home?” 

“Oh.”Jackson seemed to just now take in his taken his surroundings and realized what had happened. “Yeah. Sorry about that, Reid.”

“Sorry?! Is that all? You almost gave me a heart attack Jackson!”

“Then how about we just forget about this then?...” Jackson suggested.

“No, Jackson. I cannot just forget about you breaking into my home, unannounced and on Nicolas Cage knows what. How did you even get in here in the first place?”

“It might not be as hard to break into here as you thought. You should consider investing in a better lock,” Jackson smiled wearily.

“But why _here ___?”

“Susan kicked me out,” Jackson spoke, softly, “said she's done with me for good.” 

_“And your first thought was to come here?”_

_“No. My first thought was to get absolutely smashed, partake in some illegal substances _then come here. Who do you take me for?”__

__Reid shook his head, he could feel the anger inside himself ready to explode. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “You just assumed that I would be okay with this and expected me to let you stay here?”_ _

__“Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. Sorry about that. Guess I’ll be on my way then-”_ _

__“You could stay the night. I'm not so cruel as to leave you out on the street in your condition,” Reid said matter-of-factly._ _

__“Thanks a million, Brother.”_ _

__“Just for tonight,” he said._ _


	3. Catlin Swift (S1E0)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set Pre-season 1. How I'd like to imagine Jackson and Susan got together. Written for tumblr's Ripper Street Writing Club.

A quick knock on the door prompted Jackson to rise from his seat in his sad apartment that he had been sharing with his Pinkerton brother, Frank Goodnight. It was a miserable place, but close to the location of his semi-long term current job asignment.

“Yes?” he asked the young boy that stood in waiting. 

“Telegram for Matthew Judge.”

“Go on then,” he said, snatching the letter. It had only 3 words and initials written on it: “Tea at noon?” it asked. Jackson didn’t even have to look at the ‘CS’ signature to know it was from Caitlin Swift. He smiled inwardly and made his way back to his room.

He’d been hired to look after a very wealthy man’s daughter during the week. The daughter, Caitlin, was a woman around his age and apparently she needed protecting due to recent death threats directed at her father. It was an easy job, in which he mostly stood around talking to Catlin. During the weekends — which he had off — he still, however, found himself in the company of that particular lady, more often than not. 

Before heeding to her call, Jackson looked at himself in the mirror and put on a nice tie for his weekend outing. “We could do for a trim,” he thought, wanting to look snazzy for his lady; he had been asked to tea, after all. With a few clips of his medical grade scissors, he was ready to head out. 

On the way over, an old lady in a stall was selling flowers, and as usual, when Jackson went by on the weekends, he bought her one. It was always at least one, but in different variants. Today he bought her a Rose of Sharon. It symbolized being consumed by love, the woman selling the flowers had told him.

“Miss Swift,” he said as he walked into the room, almost gasping when he saw her. She was wearing a fancy and bright green dress; it was one he hadn’t seen her in before.“Why, you look lovely, this evening.” 

“Matthew. Today I’ve, um, called you here for a specific reason today. I must confess to you a secret that I’ve been keeping.”

“What is it?”

“Please come here. I don’t believe I can bear it much longer... that we can bear it.”

Jackson came close to her and took her hand in his. “What is it, darlin’?”

“Closer,” Susan whispered. She then gave him a swift little kiss on the lips. "I felt like I had to tell you."

“Oh?” Jackson asked curiously. He was intrigued. She was interested in him as well.

“Yes,” Susan started.

"Oh, yes!" Jackson said, going in for another.


	4. Suffering is Living (S2E7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Something with Bennet suffering."  
> A old birthday fic for SavageInkSpilliage Set around S2e7 in which Bennet Drake is depressed, digs graves, and contemplates life.

It was bound to happen, eventually. Bennet Drake had finally reached the lowest-point in his life in a string of seemingly nothing but low-points. It couldn’t get any worse than this. Quietly, he disregarded this fleeting thought as a falsehood:no... it could always get worse; and it probably would.

Currently, he was digging graves as his day job, perpetually covered in mud from head to toe until it became almost like a second skin to him, hiding the man he once was. Then at night, he hired himself out to get beat senseless by men who packed a strong punch. Blood flowed freely. The cycle would repeat day-after-day until his body could go on no longer. He was punishing himself, paying for a lifetime of sins with his own sweat and blood, doing the work that seemed to be designed for him since birth. He bowed his head into submission to the cruel universe. He accepted his fate and would fight to win at life no longer; he would take what had been rightfully coming to him: suffering. 

Everyday he dug, dug, dug. He dug graves. Mass graves, small graves, big graves. He let his newly calloused and bleeding hands do the work for him. He was nothing but a machine, his mind staying blank all the while.

Digging was hard work. Backbreaking, just the way he wanted it. Every shovel of earth lessened his burden of guilt if for but a second. Covering the hole he had just dug up was the most satisfying part of the job. Doing that felt as if he could finally get peace for all the people he had killed over the years and for all the bodies he hadn’t been able to bury with closure and peace of mind. 

Facts became more apparent to Bennet Drake since he had left H-Division. Life was full of trials and tribulations. For most of his life, he had suffered and survived them. He had fought back, but in doing so, he had spread this unneeded suffering; he had judged, condemned, and killed people who would have been better off without him.

Working as a soldier and a copper caused humans nothing but injury and death. It would have better if he didn’t spread this affliction.

A sudden rough jab to his his face during a fight brought on a faded recollection of his childhood.

It was always like this.

He had been a financial and emotional strain on his poor mother from the day he was born.

Some of Bennet’s earliest memories were of his mother bringing men in and out of their small room to service them. When she was done, she would send him and his sister out to purchase food with their newly acquired currency, too tired or beaten to do it herself. The woman always had a smile on her face when they returned. In addition, she often took a smaller portion of food than Bennet and his sister did. “You two need your strength so you can grow up strong and healthy,” she would say. At that rate, her own health deteriorated fast and she was dead before Bennet was in his early teenage years.

Seeing his mother at work angered young Bennet. It hurt his heart every time he saw her in pain and he was helpless to help her. Especially with the odd particularly rough or unsatisfied client. When he got a little older, there was a time his mother’s screams got so loud that he rushed into help her, losing all control and beating the man senseless.

After that occurrence, his mother had trouble getting clients for some time. He had only been trying to help out, but instead made it worse.

“Useless.”

At this time his sister had already started soliciting, so the small family managed to survive. Bennet occupied most of his time on the streets with some boys in a similar situation to his. That lifestyle was a different kind of suffering that he had to endure, but at least it helped him become less of a burden to his mother and sister. The boys and him would do anything ranging from small odd jobs to committing petty theft in order to bring home some money to their needy families. Any bit helped and they would be willing to do anything to keep his loved ones out of harm's way.

One day he witnessed some of the boys beat a rich pimp to death. A man was getting murdered right in front of him and all he did was help pick the dying man’s pockets when his friends were done with him. He didn’t know what spurred the beating or if the man deserved it, but he decided not to question the event and be thankful for the spoils. Life was cruel, he decided. This death was the first he had personally witnessed and somewhat been responsible for.

The first of many that would haunt him for years to come.

Things became heated in his neighborhood after that. His mother was newly dead and life on the streets for young Bennet proved tough. His sister had managed to wed a industrial worker and moved out but he decided against moving in with her as he wanted a life for himself where he wouldn't be a burden to others. He ran away, and never saw her again.

The army offered some relief, giving him the chance to start his life anew. It saved him and gave him his own self back, one to finally call his own.

When he enlisted, he was not of age and was probably the youngest soldier there. Many of the older boys and men were as just as tough as he was. To survive, he had to learn to be tougher. It was a unyielding struggle.

Death surrounded him in the army, but he carried on. Somehow. He was useful for once. Completely useful and wanted. He could protect his comrades and his country and it felt good.

This goodness did not last, however. Each day he lost people he had learned to love: comrades. Then he got older and the army no longer needed him, most of his battalion was dead and he was left alone in the world again.

He was a coward. Now here he was in the present, digging graves. Something he should have done long ago. He was burying his problems and killing himself the only way he knew how. Slowly.

Bennet engaged in underground fights. In doing so he sold his body, similar to his mother before him. Every blow was a new pain. It exposed his soul and knocked an idea he had long forgotten back into his brain. He had to suffer to exist. Suffering, pain and sadness were the only feelings he had left to hold onto. They were what made him human.

Living in the doss house, digging graves and engaging in fights had made the world safe. Safe from him and the torment he brought along. No longer was he doing any harm to others in his current condition.

The only reason he lived was to keep on digging.

He did so to make things right. He helped bury bodies that had no right to be dead, bodies that should be him. Perhaps one day, he thought, but his life was not yet paid for. He had to pay his dues. In the meantime. he had more digging to do.


	5. Flight to England (S1E0)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan and Jackson flee America.

A waning sun slowly disappeared under the horizon as Matthew Judge and Caitlin Swift began their flight to the east coast docks of America. They had to be careful and stealthy; her father would have sent his men after them by now, and if they were caught…the two of them didn’t even want to think about what would happen. It would not be a good result.

They arrived at the docks by the time the sun set and waited in the shadows near the ship.

“Matthew! We have to board soon,” Caitlin whispered harshly, biting her lip “If we don’t make it now, we won’t ever get another chance!”

“I know, darlin'. I know.” Jackson held her hand tightly in his.“We have to wait. We can’t risk it, your father’s men are everywhere. We have to be careful.”

The last calls were announced and two of them ran up the gangway at the last second possible and boarded the ship. They were both out of breath as it departed.

“We made it.”

“We did.”

The two of them didn’t look behind them and instead, looked out onto the open sea which held endless possibilities for the young couple. Susan’s eyebrows furrowed.

“There’s Hell to be raised in England and I am about to raise it,” she said. "From this day on, I am no longer my father’s daughter.”


End file.
